


to the brink

by justsleepwalkin



Series: looking back, then moving on [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: BSing timelines, BSing timetravel, Blood, Idek anymore okay, Language, M/M, Pre-Slash, Snart's kind of a damsel, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsleepwalkin/pseuds/justsleepwalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snart almost wants to find out if Mick would make good on his <i>promise</i>. See which one of them is the real liar. </p>
<p>Spoilers 1x06. Can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the brink

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether or not to make this purely a standalone or adding it as a follow-up of my other piece. The latter won out.
> 
> [(♫)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RhvUNvDUbE)

“Oh, so _now_ you're willing to help out?” Snart yells, uncontrolled. Ducked down behind a crumbling wall, he's decided that he hates this. _Hates_ it. And this loss of control has been following him for far too long. Days? No, weeks, he thinks. Time blends together too much on the _Waverider_ , hours and minutes and _seconds_ overlapping and fragmenting apart. He can't keep the calculations together in his head and with that falls apart everything else. 

There's flames streaking overhead and Snart knows it isn't Firestorm; he knows it's Mick. Knows the sound of that gun like he knows his own, which is currently held in close to his chest like armor, his entire body wound too tight together, pressed against the rubble for safety. 

“It's fine!” he keeps yelling, because he can't stop. His voice is shrill. He hopes Mick's gun covers over its pitch. “Go back about your business! I don't need your help!” 

There's a stutter in the flames for Mick to answer, loud and raw, “Don't be an idiot, Snart!”

He's been an idiot today, sure, but in this moment, no. He just wants to be left alone and deal with the fallout of his actions and then shove off to a corner of the ship with his arms locked behind his head and taking the time for a not-so-minor freakout. 

Because ten years ago on the 19th of November 1985 in Switzerland, Vandal Savage (taking interest in the Geneva Summit) learned Leonard Snart's name, and here on February 5th, 1995—years apart for Savage, hours apart for Snart—he was finally going to use that information. How to get Hunter's brand of misfits off his back? Strike at their hearts. Each and every one of them, one at a time if he must. 

“I ain't doing this for you,” Mick continues, “I'm doing it for Goldie!”

Snart's got mixed feelings from that. It doesn't hurt so much that Mick isn't really here for him. That isn't new. Mick doesn't “come to his” rescue these days, that's usually Sara's job, and it isn't to say that Snart gets _in these situations_ frequently. He just... makes more mistakes now that his side isn't constantly protected.

But Mick's here for _Lisa_ and that _means something_ to Snart. Relaxes him as much as he can afford. He doesn't have a lot of important people in his life, and he's done a shit job as of late guarding them, and if Savage gets to Lisa so far away from 2016... He can't lose his sister. He can't lose her and then have those memories leave him. 

There's a long break in fire and Snart takes it as a sign to peer around his shelter, hoping maybe Mick's flames were enough to drive Savage away from here. Immortality is one thing; being scorched while staying alive, probably not so fun. Mick's perched on a turned-over garbage container, eyes scanning the area. Out further, far beyond the road, Sara looks to be arguing with thin air, which in reality is probably her arguing with Rip. 

He's strangely glad Kendra isn't here. Likely still with the others on their _actual_ mission, not a part of How-to-Ruin-the-Snart-Sibling-Timeline. 

He breathes in through his nose. Collects himself. Then gracefully pulls out of his hiding space. Checks his surroundings. Mission accomplished, Mick's already taking off. The bastard. Snart can't—won't—fault him. Lisa's gone. Safe. Outta here. Thanks to Sara, he's sure. He takes a step in their direction when something tugs at his situational awareness.

Two steps around a corner and he's met with one knife into his side and another snug under his ear, not cutting into skin, but held as a warning. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Snart spits. He starts to move his gun but the knife by his ear twists to dig in and no, thanks, he'd like to keep that.

“Your sister may have gotten away, but I can take a consolation prize,” Savage says to him.

Snart drawls a reply, “Really scraping the bottom of the barrel for this one,” and earns his head bounced off a back brick wall. He feels a pang of sympathy for the head injury he gave Mick weeks ago. Wonders if Sara will take notice that he hasn't caught up yet.

Wonders if Rip will finally just cut his loses and leave Snart behind.

* * *

He wakes slowly within an estate that he'd be willing to rob, and given that he's tried to rob one of Savage's places of residences before, well.

There's a rather ugly ice sculpture across the room, and then Savage walks into his line of vision, holding Snart's cold gun in both his hands.

_Hell._

“An exquisite piece of weaponry,” Savage is saying, “I've always wondered what it would be like to hold, ever since I've first seen it in action.” He raises the weapon and aims it at Snart. The gun hums to life, but then Savage chooses not to fire, smiling widely and dumping the weapon to the ground. The lack of care bothers Snart more than it probably should. “But as fine as that weapon is, I _am_ a traditionalist.”

And then he's on Snart, one hand 'round his neck, the other pressing into the souvenir of a side wound from earlier. 

He's coughing up blood onto Savage's hand and grinning all the while, ignoring the fingers that are clenching into his windpipe because _it doesn't matter_. He's won. Lisa's safe. He can die here and that's fine because _Lisa_.

He doesn't expect help, ever. Doesn't matter that he's on a theoretical “team.” People like him are criminals through and through, and rarely anyone ever comes back to save the criminal. Better to cut ties and go home, or in this case, back to the timestream. 

Certainly Mick isn't supposed to help him, not twice in one day, not after 2046. Not at all. 

So it's the _“Hey, Jackass!”_ that roars through the estate that surprises Snart more than it does Savage, and really, which one of them is Mick calling the Jackass, anyway? 

“Better not keep him waiting,” Snart rasps out. He tries to say more, just another jab of snark, but his vision swims again and vertigo shakes through him. 

“I don't have time for this,” Savage seethes. “More trouble than you're worth.” He throws Snart away from him, storming towards Mick but skirting just shy of the heat gun's burn, knives at the ready. “President Reagan's State of the Union address is tomorrow, and I would not miss that for anything.” He grins. “Do you _truly_ wish to do this song and dance _again_?”

“Mick, let him go,” Snart says from the ground, rolling over, trying to get an arm up and under him.

Mick's stubbornness turns the heat gun as both a shield and a bludgeoning weapon, blocking one of Savage's knives and slamming a fist towards his collarbone. Doesn't matter how much of a fighter he is though; Savage has _lifetimes_ of experience, and his second knife is jabbing around in an arch.

“ _Mick_ ,” Snart pleads more than he means. “Immortal, remember!” 

Mick makes a frustrated sound, breaking away from Savage and putting enough distance between them, his heat gun charging in challenging orange. 

Savage is laughing. 

Snart's gaze searches for his cold gun. His chest heaves. He tries not to overwhelm his body as it re-stabilizes. 

“Go to your damn meeting,” Mick growls, his aim falling only a fraction. 

“We can have this dance of ours another time, I have a feeling,” Savage says, still laughing, before he turns his back and goes, Mick letting him. 

“ _Snart_.”

Snart snaps back to it, blinking slow, realizing that he'd passed out for a moment. It feels like his entire body's trying to rebel against him, and he can't blame it. 

“What do you think you're doing?” Mick seethes quietly at him. 

He ignores Mick, finally fishing a hand out to his cold gun, but then Mick steps down on the weapon and crouches over him like a vulture and _damn_. Snart just lets his arm give out again and lays along the cool wet ground. He thinks he may have landed on a puddle of his own blood. Lovely.

“ _What_ now, Mick?” he mutters, exhausted. His fingers release the hold on his gun, but he still keeps his thumb pressed against the metal for the familiarity. It'd be more comforting if the gun was back in his holster where it belonged, but he'll take what he can get. 

“What was up with you and Savage?” 

Snart closes his eyes and moves his head away from Mick as much as he can. “What are you so angry about?” Snart asks, honestly confused about why Mick is yelling at him, why Mick is even still _there_ , let alone there _in the first place_. And then Mick's reaching out, hand pushing right into the same place of his neck where Savage's had been trying to choke the life out of him. Snart flinches and gasps, struggling to pull away, but his body isn't aligned properly on the ground to do so. There's already going to be one helluva bruise there, did Mick have to worsen it? “ _Mick_ —Mick, stop.”

“Why?” Mick rumbles. His fingernails press half-moons into skin. “You were sure willing to let Savage kill you.”

He's sure that it's a mix between the blood loss and the air loss that make it sound as though Mick was _worried_ about Savage successfully offing him. Because last Snart checked, Mick saw him as he saw everyone else: someone to burn away with the rest of the world. His charred skeleton can sit with Sara's and Jax's and maybe Mick would make full-body candles out of them one day, but that would be how Leonard Snart ended—

It clicks, too slow, in Snart's mind. He starts to laugh, a ragged, wheezing sound. Mick's allowing him more airflow than Savage did, but it's nothing to write home about. 

“I get it,” he chuckles, “sorry you almost didn't get to be the one to kill me. You coulda burned my corpse after Savage was done with it.”

He's surprised when Mick's grip loosens. He takes the offering of air as much as he's able.

“I don't want to burn you, Snart,” Mick whispers. 

Snart frowns, trying to process the words. Delirium, he reasons this time. Full-blown, nauseating delirium. “Right then. News to me.” When Mick lets him go completely and stands up, Snart makes it onto his elbows and quickly grabs for his cold gun, though it takes him a few disoriented misses. He charges it, halfhearted, and tries to point it at his former partner, but his vision does weird things, and he doesn't actually want to shoot Mick, he just wants _something_ to feel normal. Instead he stretches his leg out and awkwardly holsters the gun. “We need to get back to the _Waverider_ , do you have your communicator? Savage busted mine.” 

Mick doesn't say anything. He's busy staring out in the direction that Savage had went. 

“ _Mick_ ,” he bites out. But still, nothing. He slowly climbs to his feet, swaying. Gingerly runs a finger along his neck and winces. Gideon could probably give him something good for it, if they can make it back to the ship. “They're still here, right? Somewhere?”

“Probably.”

“ _Probably_?” Snart demands, a trill of panic sounding in his mind. He limps over to Mick, but keeps his arms at his side, even if he desperately wants to grab Mick by the shoulder and spin him around. At this point, it wouldn't hurt. At this point, he doesn't care. Snart almost wants to find out if Mick would make good on his _promise_. See which one of them is the real liar. 

His fingers twitch at his sides. 

“You don't seem to be thinking clearly, Mick—”

Molten eyes turn to him. “Because I don't think, hm?” Mick demands lowly. “Because _I'm_ not the one who thinks, between the two of us?” He wholly faces Snart, and the only reason Snart doesn't hold his ground is because he's too damned exhausted—that's what he's sticking to. He's not _scared_ of Mick. “Even though it's _your_ slip-up that led Savage to look into the Snarts, and _your_ mistake that got his nose onto Lisa's scent.” He takes another step closer and this time Snart manages to stay in place. “So _tell me_ , truly, _which_ one of us is really the brains?”

“Well it isn't like we're partners, so it isn't like we have to have our roles,” Snart says with fury, defenses skyrocketing. He _knows_ it's his fault that Savage nearly got to Lisa. _He knows_. He doesn't need to be reminded _that it's his fault_. If he had been focused, if he had been thinking, if he hadn't been so damn fucked up since 2046—“Why're you still with us on this little _time jaunt_ , anyway, _Mick_? Go home. I know you _want_ to.”

They're close now. Too close for Snart's liking, but it also makes him feel safe, because he knows that Mick can't draw his heat gun on him easily at this distance. It'd give him enough time to retaliate, if he tried.

But he doesn't think he would, even if it came to that. 

“Moment I leave is the moment you're dead,” Mick answers. “Can't trust you to take care of yourself.”

Funny, Snart was going to say the same thing about him.

“That's real cute, Mick.”

“Tell me the truth, Snart. If you don't, I'll burn you right here and leave you behind.”

Snart can see it in his eyes that he isn't lying. He frowns. Waits.

“Why're we really here? Why're _you_ really here? It ain't about heroes or legends or _scores_. So why?”

He actually fumbles for a response. Tries to find an answer that'll both be the truth _and_ satisfy Mick. He wants to lay back down, ideally on the _Waverider_ , but he'd take the ground. He wants to go back to 2016 and see Lisa, make sure she's okay, make sure this mistake of his didn't make her worse off than before. 

He doesn't want to have this talk, blood crusting in his shirt, motions limited, emotions unmasked. 

He isn't sure, really, if _he_ knows the answer. 

“It's... where we need to be,” he says, then amends as Mick's releasing a sigh, “It's where I _want_ to be.” His gaze starts to drift away, uncertain, but then it realigns with Mick's. He's tired of this near-constant unknowing. If he's going to remain in this timeline as a pile of scattered ashes, he's going out with some goddamn confidence. “I want you by my side, Mick, like it used to be.” 

Mick looks at him with what Snart interprets as pity. “It can't be the same, Lenny.”

It's been awhile since he's heard Mick call him by anything other than his surname. “So we'll make it better. Improvise. _Mick_ ,” he doesn't know why he pleads, but he feels like this is the only chance he's ever going to get, “when it's your time to go, I'll set your surroundings _ablaze_ for you, but—” He stops himself, knowing he's about to ask too much.

“But what?” 

He sighs. “But could you keep the world spinning until then?” 

“Donno,” Mick says. Tilts his head back a notch. “You gonna keep going with this deathwish of yours?”

“I don't have—”

“Savage was gonna kill you and you were gonna let him.”

And it isn't a trick of Snart's mind. That's worry, blatant and for him. 

He doesn't quite know what to do with that.

“Guess I can go out with a fight when the time comes,” Snart answers.

Mick shrugs. “Guess the world can stay as is until that time comes.” He crosses his arms and tosses a quick look over his shoulder. “ _Waverider_ 's out beyond the estate grounds. Hunter's real pissed at you.”

“Rightfully so, of course. For once,” Snart groans.

“Yeah. You've been a real idiot. Being solo makes you dumb, Cold.” 

Snart huffs and shifts the weight of his feet. “You going to help me back the ship or make me limp like an old man the whole way?”

“You are an old man.”

Snart glares. “And old, injured man, then.” 

“Could throw you over my shoulder.”

“Please don't,” he drawls. At Mick's predatory grin, he adds, “ _I'm not kidding_ , Mick.”

“You'd enjoy it.”

“My neck is going to swell like a grapefruit and I think something's fractured in my front so _no_ , I'll take a _rain check_.”

“Another time, eh?” 

He doesn't expect Mick to ever remember, so he agrees. He makes a motion to swing an arm over Mick's shoulders, but hesitates partway, his arm hovering just shy of touching down.

“What?” Mick looks at him, frowning.

“You said...”

Mick grabs his arm, a bit roughly, and guides it over his shoulders, snug, and sidles alongside Snart's body. 

“Consider it unsaid. I'll still punch you in the face though if you ever knock me out again.”

“Fair.” He sinks into Mick's side and they start their walk back to the ship. “Thanks,” he says when they're halfway there, “for helping me with my sister. And with Savage.”

“You mean saving you from Savage.”

“Yes. That.”

“Like you're some kinda damsel,” Mick's grinning, “when even your sister was mighty fine on her own today.”

“ _Mick_ —”

Mick's turning, still tucked under Snart's arm, and he's smiling. Actually smiling. It silences Snart, a blip in his ever-working thoughts, and he frowns in reply, looking away. He answers, “Fine, you saved the day,” and smirks, “almost makes you a hero, doesn't it.” It's a word that'd be a blow to both of them, and he doesn't know why he says it, doesn't know why he wants to tarnish that smile, but they're on uneven footing _again_ , just differently this time, and that bothers him.

Mick doesn't rise to the jab like Snart expects. “Only yours. Maybe theirs. They're our crew now, aren't they?”

Snart sees the _Waverider_ materialize into view. “We do seem to be, fortunately or unfortunately, stuck with them. I'm surprised they weren't with you.”

“Hunter wouldn't let the hawk come. Sara tried. Some things were happening. Lots of yelling. I got impatient.” 

“Good thing, too. Savage would've killed me.”

Mick pushes him up the ramp to the ship. “Gotta get that neck looked at. And the,” he waves at Snart's blood-crusted side. 

Snart glares at him from over his shoulder. “You sure didn't help with that.”

Mick shrugs, unapologetic. 

Snart wants to say more, but Rip is there looking furious and Sara is behind him, mouthing the word “sorry” and despite nearly losing his sister today, and dying twice, he just breathes out a wisp of laughter. It surprises Rip enough that he stops glaring. “Alright, we're taking off in five minutes, someone get this man medical attention, I think he's hit his head.” 

“That did happen,” Snart says, remembering. 

“Can't take you anywhere,” Sara tells him.

“Guilty.” 

The door closes up behind them. Be seeing you, 1995.

**Author's Note:**

> February 5th, 1985 was two days after Frank Oppenheimer died. Frank being related to Robert Oppenheimer, on of the fathers of the atomic bomb. Frank apparently made contributions to uranium enrichment. Random fact of the day. 
> 
>  
> 
> There's a few things in this I'm annoyed about, like what was actually going on with Lisa around and stuff but... I knew if I kept poking at it I'd never get it done and there'll prob be more to this eventually so I'll just... bank on that. I also struggled for an ending, but whatever, I'll live. Right? Sure.


End file.
